Work Text:
001.
It's funny—I should remember the very first time I saw you, but I don't. Not really.
What I do remember is you at three years old, swinging from your mother's arms, emitting the kind of joyful shriek only a child can give.
I shouldn't know you asleep in your father's armchair, waiting for him to leave his office. Shouldn't know the sound of you crying from another room. The way you stared at your dinner plate as I—as he—shouted into the phone that it was all a mistake. That they'd find her.
I shouldn’t, but I do.
002.
I know that scar. The first time I saw it, it had just been stitched together.
I remember when none of us were quite sure you could bleed. Not in a way that mattered. I've seen you hold yourself together through just biofoam and will, but the day Maine was shot split you right open.
You were never really the same afterward. I think that was when it started.
003.
I keep thinking about how we could have saved them. How we could have stopped all of it if I had done… anything at all. If I had told you about Epsilon. If I had stopped Connie from leaving. Convinced her to wait a little longer.
You were so untouchable to me then, but she would have made you see. I'm sure of it.
004.
You were dead to your father long before the first time you went over a cliff.
He sent Wyoming to look for you. I asked to go. I think that was exactly why he said no.
If I had found you, could I have brought you back?
Would it have made things better, or worse?
005.
There are days I think I can never tell you that I turned my back on you. That I warned the Reds and Blues to stay home.
Then I remember your reluctant hand in mine, and I think you already know.
It felt good, fighting at your side again.
Watching you make it out afterwards felt better.
006.
I can’t lose them to a war that isn’t even theirs.
007.
You can't die. You can't do this to me twice.
I wasn't built for this. I can't do this without you.
I should have been there. I keep letting you do this.
Why do I keep letting you do this?
Who am I kidding about what you're allowed to do,
when you have always made the rules
and I have followed them to the letter.
My turn.
You don't get to die.
Not before I do.
008.
The dream I keep saying is nothing isn't too much for me to talk about.
I'm worried you'll tell me that you have it, too.
You shouldn’t have to think about this if you can help it.
Maine isn’t yours to carry.
He was mine.
009.
Your father put holes in you. In all of us, really, but yours are fit to rival the pattern of the stars. We drowned, every one of us, but where my lungs burst, you learned how to breathe beneath the waves.
You used the pressure of the ocean floor to forge yourself into a diamond. (You don't see it, but I can spot your shimmer from two klicks away.)
I want to make you a deal. Say that if you teach me to not crack under the pressure, how to hold my shrapnel inside of me, I’ll help you survive the darkest depths.
I want to, but you did that without me.
010.
I wish you would say it. Just once.
011.
I half-expect my newest scars to be in the shape of your fingers.
Maybe I just want lasting proof of what we do when no one's around.
These bruises are healing too fast.
012.
Loving you is like cradling smoke.
I catch you in my hands and still watch you disappear.
013.
If you said it, I don't know that I could say it back.
I still want you to say it.
014.
Epsilon filled the space next to you better than I ever could, and he wasn’t even meant to be yours.
I don’t know how to feel now that he’s gone.
015.
You are eating cereal out of the box with Caboose in front of the television, and even if I were down the hall, I would still hear your laugh, loud and loose and free.
If we'd known capture the flag and cartoons were the key to your smile, I bet Tucker would let you tackle him any time.
Scratch that.
Tucker will let you tackle him any time.
016.
I'm proud of you. Of our family.
You all make me wonder whether one day I can be proud of myself.
017.
I look forward to waking up next to you for as long as you'll let me—
just not like this, with your eyes red and a hole in my neck.
God, I hate hospitals.
018.
I hate that all that we gained was another weight placed on your shoulders.
I know exactly where Temple is going to rot. I'll cherish every day he spends there.
I'm glad you didn't let Tucker kill him.
I wish he had.
It still wouldn’t take the haunted look off your face.
019.
I can see it in your eyes the day you wake up and don’t remember what you have to feel sorry for. I know you haven’t left that guilt behind—we all have ghosts that occasionally catch us by surprise.
I want you to enjoy the days yours don’t.
And when they do, I’ll be here.
020.
I thought I would have scared you away months ago
but you have sharper teeth than any monster I've ever seen,
and I like them best when they're sunk into my skin.